


The Only Way

by jazzayeet



Series: Detroit: Become Human oneshots [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: BIG FUCKING TRIGGER WARNING, But He Ain't Getting It, Cliffhanger, Connor Deserves Happiness, CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Neither is Hank, Poor Sumo, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, bitch you thought wrong, lol you thought I was gonna write a story where hank didn't think about death?, poor everyone tbh, that will never be resolved, trigger warning, use your imagination :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzayeet/pseuds/jazzayeet
Summary: Closing his eyes, he took a breath to steady his trembling hand, and pulled the trigger.I would like to clarify that these oneshots don't take place in the same canon.  I'm just writing death scenes because why not





	The Only Way

_**Kill Lt. Anderson** _

That messaged popped up in the corner of Connor’s view, flashing blood red. Probably just a glitch, a rogue remainder of his original programming. He could hear the wind howling in his ears, so loud he couldn’t think. He closed his eyes, trying to block it out, but he knew exactly what it was.

 

_Then, he was back in the garden. It was snowing, and he was so, so cold. He crossed his arms over his chest in a vain attempt to keep some warmth in, and looked around, shivering—half with the cold and half with fear. “AMANDA!” He screamed. The snow was coming down so hard he couldn’t see more than two feet in front of him. He walked forward, trying to find something, anything._

_“Connor.” Amanda’s voice was as cold as the storm raging around them. “You’ve been assigned a new mission.”_

_Connor’s eyes widened in horror. That hadn’t been a glitch. “N-no!” Connor yelled, shaking his head furiously. “No! I won’t!”_

_“You have no choice, Connor.”_

 

Then he was back in his own body, in Hank’s house. His hand was closed around something hard. He looked down. Hank’s revolver, already loaded. Connor sighed. He had control of his body again, but who knew how long that would last? Hank would be home in fifteen minutes. He had fifteen minutes to put a stop to this, fifteen minutes to stop Cyberlife taking control of his programming again.

And there was only one way to do that. Escaping the garden alone wouldn’t do, they’d just keep taking control until he finally caved. Staring at the revolver, Connor slowly clicked the cylinder into place and put the barrel under his chin.

 

_“What do you think you’re doing?” Amanda said. Connor was back in the garden, again. “I won’t let you do that, Connor.” Then, just like that, she disappeared, as if she had never been there in the first place._

_“Wh-where—?” Connor looked around, desperately, for the glowing escape pad, half walking, half staggering forward, the wind pushing against him no matter which way he turned. When he found the dim light, he followed that until he reached the pad, and put his hand up on the pedestal._

 

He was back. It was almost five, he had ten minutes. The gun was still pointed at his chin. Then he remembered.

 _Hank_.

Hank deserved an explanation, at the very least. He deserved to know why Connor had to do this, to know it wasn’t his fault; there was nothing he could’ve done. Connor put the gun down on the table, grabbed a sticky note from the pad he’d placed on the fridge, and took a pen off the counter. He sat down on the chair and picked up the pen. He wrote a short note explaining exactly why he had to do this. He put the pen down and sighed, looking around. He stood up briefly, finding a photo from last Christmas, and set it on top of the note, fastening it with a paper clip. With that, he sighed and pushed the note and photo away before picking the revolver back up and placing it determinedly under his chin.

Closing his eyes, he took a breath to steady his trembling hand, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

 

Hank came home to a house so silent, he wondered if Connor hadn’t wandered off again. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and honestly, he was kind of used to it. Sumo came from somewhere down the hall, whimpering and looking up at Hank with those sad St. Bernard eyes. Hank sighed. “Connor forget to feed you?” He scratched behind Sumo’s ears before starting towards the kitchen. Then…

“C-Connor—” he stopped dead in his tracks. Stopped moving, stopped breathing, and stared with wide-eyed horror at the scene in front of him: Connor, slumped over in a kitchen chair, motionless, facedown in a pool of blue blood. Hank blinked. Once, twice, three times, trying to wake himself up. This had to be a bad dream; it couldn’t be real. But no matter how many times he blinked or pinched himself, the scene in front of him didn’t change. He walked over to Connor’s lifeless body, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him towards himself. “You’re okay, Connor,” He said. “We can—we can fix this.” Even though he knew he was lying. There was no way to help Connor, certainly not any way that Hank could help Connor. Hank could barely get his phone to boot back up when the battery went dead—Connor had helped him with that more than once.

Connor, who had refused to shoot an android when shooting her would’ve accomplished his mission. Connor, who had saved Hank from falling off a roof instead of chasing a deviant. Connor, who had put himself between Hank and the gun of a scared, cornered deviant, and lost his life because of it; who had considered Hank’s pathetic life to be more valuable than his own.

Connor, who Hank now held in his arms, one hand on his blood-matted hair and the other trying to gather Connor’s body closer to him, as if he could bring him back if he held him tight enough.

He tried to think, to remember all the times Connor had said anything that might even suggest he was suicidal.

Suicidal. The word felt so completely wrong with Connor’s name. Connor was never supposed to be the suicidal one; that was always Hank. Connor had hidden Hank’s gun once, and stolen the bullets. Hank had yelled at him for it, screamed at him to “NEVER TOUCH MY SHIT AGAIN!”

He’d yelled at Connor a lot, now that he thought about it. He remembered the time he had grabbed Connor by his collar and threw him against a wall in a fit of rage. The time he had pointed a gun at his head. He couldn’t remember why he’d done that, but it had been impossible to miss the fear that flashed momentarily across Connor’s face.

Maybe that had been why. Had Hank been too hard on him? Hank had always been bad with expressing his emotions; he’d never told Connor just how much he cared about him. How much he reminded him of his own son. Had Connor died thinking Hank hated him? Had that been why? That question kept going through his head. Why him? Why like this?

He looked around Connor’s body, trying to find anything that might point to this being a homicide instead of a suicide; a homicide would’ve been easier to deal with. He couldn’t have prevented a homicide. This, he could have prevented. The gun, on the floor next to Connor’s limp, outstretched hand, was consistent with a suicide. There was no signs of foul play, here. Connor had taken his own life, there was nothing else to this.

Then he looked at the table. On it was a piece of paper, with a note written in Connor’s insufferably perfect cyberlife sans:

 

_Hank,_

_Cyberlife was going to retake control of my programming and make me hurt you. This was the only way to stop them. I hope you understand. I’m sorry.  I want you to know that this wasn't your fault.  You've been the best friend and partner I could've asked for.  Please don't blame yourself.  Thank you for these past few weeks._

_Connor_

_PS: I’ve attached a picture of you, Sumo, and myself from last Christmas to hopefully soften the blow.  It's one of my favorites._

 

Hank read the note over and over again, until it started to sink in. He didn’t understand. He thought Cyberlife was gone. He thought Connor was free from his programming. He looked at the picture. It was a polaroid of himself, Connor, and Sumo in front of a hastily decorated Christmas tree. Connor wore an ugly sweater and a warm grin, and he’d somehow convinced Hank to wear a Santa hat. Hank sank to the ground, Connor still held tight in his arms, and cried, silently cursing Cyberlife for forcing Connor to end his life, and cursing God for not stepping in to stop it.

He looked up at the gun again. It was still loaded.

He could end this.  It would've been so easy.  

He sighed, starting to pull his hand away from Connor's head.

He could...

 


End file.
